


What They Give Us

by intentioncraft



Series: How Deep It Goes [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, References to Alcohol, Siren Dean, Stripper Dean (Past), Vampire Benny, Victor POV, references to murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2571269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intentioncraft/pseuds/intentioncraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s the idea guy of the duo but Benny’s got an eye for sussing out connections among a mountain of ordinary facts and making them extraordinarily useful when it comes down to it. Real FBI material, in Victor’s professional opinion. It’s just a damn shame vampires are considered too big of a risk for most occupations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What They Give Us

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [tumblr](http://intentioncrafts.tumblr.com/post/99232252548/dean-benny-victor-urban-fantasy-au-with).

“I used to work at a place like this. As a dancer.”

Victor looks up from the dark stain on his coaster and takes in both Benny’s non-reaction and the slight quirk of Dean’s lips in a second, FBI instincts testing for some kind of trick. Usually, this is when Benny jumps in and tells Dean to knock it off, quit kidding around, and Dean will grin sheepishly and backtrack. Not that Dean’s a compulsive liar, but whenever he says something, anything, people have a tendency to believe it right away, even if he’s just having a laugh.

Vic’s getting no signals from the vampire, however. Then again Lafitte’s too focused on his case file, body turned away from them in the booth, his round shoulders bunched up in tense concentration. Probably combing it again and again in search of some minute detail that’ll crack this one wide open. Dean’s the idea guy of the duo but Benny’s got an eye for sussing out connections among a mountain of ordinary facts and making them extraordinarily useful when it comes down to it. Real FBI material, in Victor’s professional opinion. It’s just a damn shame vampires are considered too big of a risk for most occupations.

“No kiddin’,” Victor replies after a while. His voice remains level so as not to suggest anything by his tone, another skill he’s honed over many years and countless investigations and interrogations, but his eyes have already unconsciously roved over Dean’s features for the umpteenth time, the ones he can see in the low lights punched by occasional neon strobes. Of course Dean could easily have been an erotic dancer. Face like that, full lips and artful angles, freckles splashed across his nose and cheeks to give him that visage of harmless persuasion. With sunglasses on the effect is almost totally muzzled but Victor knows that Dean’s eyes are wide and inviting and suggestive, dangerously so.

“Isn’t that kind of a scam?” Victor adds.

Dean’s blunt fingertips draw parallel lines down either side of his beer, “Not if it’s advertised. People pay big money for a private show with a siren,” he says tightly, a note of bitterness creeping into his rough voice like rot.

Unbidden, Victor pictures it. It isn’t hard, given where they are for this case. Dim lighting, maybe red or purple spotlights washing over Dean’s bare shoulders, the smell of alcohol and sweat thick on the air like a drug. The pulse of music flooding down the smooth curve of Dean’s bare back and chest with his hips full and wide and barely contained by a pair of silky undergarments, or maybe some of that lace that Victor knows Dean favours under his suit pants some days.

He imagines Dean’s eyes, uncovered and focused and full of heat and promise, and feels a very real pull low in his spine, warmth rushing to his groin.

Across the table, Dean’s lips purse but he doesn’t say anything.

Victor clears his throat and takes a long sip of his beer. It’s gratefully cold.

“Felt good to be appreciated for what you were for a change?” Benny chimes in suddenly, swivelling on his ass to rejoin the conversation proper. He shuts the file and sets it down in front of him but keeps his palm over it like he might divine some information through touch alone.

“For a while. There ain’t many jobs where being a freak is a marketable skill, or even allowed. Sam had to go through a dozen personality evaluations before they’d even let him into college, and he doesn’t have _any_ of the characteristics.”

“Must be nice.”

Dean bumps Benny’s shoulder with his and lowers his voice intimately, “C’mon, Benny, you’re all right. I think we made it pretty good.”

“Now I am. Puttin’ enough food on the table for you ain’t easy but I manage somehow,” Benny sighs dramatically and Dean flicks the condensation on his fingers at Benny and mutters something that sounds like “you love me.”

“Find anything in there?” Dean points his chin at the folder on the table.

Benny replies glumly, “Not yet,”

“Gonna let it stew in there for a while?” Dean taps the side of Benny’s head and the vampire reaches up to grab Dean’s wrist, so Dean switches hands and tickles under Benny’s beard. It starts a short almost-wrestling match between the two of them that ends with Dean in a headlock and Benny planting a chaste kiss on the top of his head.

Now that he’s recovered from his brief loss of interest in anything but putting his hands all over Dean’s body, he smiles warmly at the two consultants across from him. They act exactly like any other loving couple Victor’s met, all the banter and playfulness and devotion. But for all the banality and normalcy in their affections for one another, the way they know how and when to push each other’s buttons, they’ll always remain outsiders to the rest of the world.

Victor isn’t sure where that places him. He’s been called many things by his colleagues, the old fashioned fear of anything not completely human casting Victor as a traitor to his own, and it takes its toll. More than once he’s considered losing Dean’s number — Benny doesn’t trust cell phones to have one — just because sitting in the middle of two worlds is a balancing act that drains him both emotionally and professionally. But then he remembers the way these two handle cases, ones involving both humans and non-humans, and the compassion they both pour into their work to ensure the world is a little bit safer every time they join up with Vic. There’s no recognition or reward or promotion waiting for them at the back of every case file. There’s pay, but it’s usually all Victor can scrape up or offer from his own pockets when his superiors won’t cough it. Even so, their motivations are far more abstract than that, and probably a lot closer to what drives most agents early on in their career.

In a way, Dean and Benny are far more “human” than most of the world is willing to acknowledge.

Dean whistles sharply, a single note that cuts through the apprehension coiling in Victor’s gut like a spring. Lost in a daze, he hadn’t even noticed Benny switching sides of the table but he feels a thigh solid and warm against his, a thick arm slung around his waist with fingers tapping against his belt.

“Hey, that was real smooth, Lafitte,” Victor croaks, barely turning his head to face the vampire.

Dean’s still wearing his sunglasses — Vic knows he hates every second of it because of how it makes him look “like a douchebag” — but he tilts his chin down conspiratorially so Victor can see a hint of long eyelashes behind the dark lenses, “Head’s not in the game, Agent.”

Victor leans forward over the table, stares directly into the dark lenses of Dean’s shades and keeps his expression neutral, unimpressed. Benny’s dubbed it his “bad cop” face and Vic knows that, to most people, it’s unsettling, but it’s moves like that excite the siren and by the way Dean bites his lower lip and sinks his ass back into the cushioning of the booth, he’s definitely excited.

Dean would eventually ask, in his own way, for Victor to come home with the two of them. They’ll walk out of this place and when they’re out the doors and away from the streetlights, Benny will light up a cigarette and Victor will start to say good-bye and Dean will swing Vic around, push him into a wall, kiss him. The question passing between them like a ghost and the answer already shoved down the front of Dean’s pants. But Dean will wait long enough for Benny to ask first, politely at the door, very southern gentleman, and Dean will snicker in the background at words like “company” and “gracious” but Victor knows that for all of Dean’s show he melts like butter when Benny purrs his fancy words in Dean’s ear.

When they make the first move, it’s always blurred in with sheepishness and apologies. For a guy who could have the world sitting in his lap for a smile, Dean doesn’t ask for a lot, and Victor gets that after seeing so many sirens go bad and wind up hurting a lot of people. Dean isn’t a bad person, just like Benny isn’t either, but Vic knows that the two of them will always feel like they have something to atone for.

“I know you two are so focused on the job and all,” Victor nods to the abandoned file folder beside Dean, “But I was wonderin’ if you’d both come back to my place,” he says, “Watch some TV, relax. Y’know. Take it easy for a few.”

Dean’s already pulling out his wallet to throw a few bills on the table for the drinks, but he sharpens his tone in mock insult anyhow, “You just call me easy, Agent?”

“If the shoe fits,” Benny slides out of the booth and snatches up the folder. No doubt this one is twisting away at him on the inside — three unconnected victims found drained and disposed of within a week. He’ll help them crack it eventually, but it’s always tinged with a sadness that Victor supposes he’ll never be able to understand. But, in the meantime, Vic’s just itching to ease out some of the tightness in Benny’s posture.

“That your way of saying yes?” Victor asks facetiously as he stands up, stretches the stiffness out of his legs after sitting for so damn long. It’s only around ten so the place is started to fill up so the three of them stand single file, Benny behind Victor and Dean in front, to let a waitress squeeze by them.

Dean turns to Victor, sunglasses reflecting the bright swirling lights from the stage, and dips in quickly to peck at Victor’s lips. Anybody who wasn’t already watching the dancers on stage would have barely noticed the gesture.

Benny coughs behind them, “Much obliged, Agent. Dean, move it.”

With an enticing scowl thrown in Benny’s direction that promises some kind of pleasurable punishment later on, Dean leads them out of the hazy building and into the crisp night. 

 


End file.
